The Average Life of an American Zombie
by HotPinkRoses
Summary: I am Blaine Anderson, and this is my journal. In this, you will find my incredibly bad handwriting along with my life story. Or... my death story? Whichever, just go on to read the tale of a very average american... zombie.
1. Unsaved

**I know I _really _shouldn't be starting another fanfic but... oh well. I got this idea from a LillyCrystal drawing if you wanna check it out, go to her art gallery and it's at the bottom of the first page. And yes, it will be another gross, blood n' guts filled horror. Just to warn you. Enjoy.**

I had to keep running, run and never stop, she said. Find someone, anyone to help. But the streets were abandoned, broken down cars left in the streets, various body parts (ohgoddon'tlook) littering the sidewalks. There was nobody for miles. Well, anyone alive, anyway. Thinking this, I looked over my shoulder... at nothing. I was being paranoid. They hardly ever came out during the day anymore. The most renowned Hunter had seen to that. What was his name? I couldn't remember, only that his initials were K.H. and that those two letters, along with deep red bloodstains, adorned his favorite weapon against the infected- a chainsaw.

I stopped to catch my breath (it had been a long time since polo and fight club...) and did a quick sweep of the area. No people around for miles, as far as I could tell. I sighed leaned against an abandoned car. A Navigator, I noticed. I had never been much for cars, but my dad seemed to have fun fixing them up with me. That's what I just told myself, really. He probably just wanted to get the gay out of my system. Well, the joke was on him, because there was a much more serious virus going around now, and he caught it. I almost laughed, but stopped myself. "_When did I become so cruel_?" I thought to myself, carding my fingers through my curls.

"But then again, everyone's cruel now. We need to be, to survive..." I said aloud, before straightening up and resuming at a leisurely pace. I hadn't seen anything that would mean that they were wandering around here. "_Maybe I happened to run into the only place that hasn't been infected yet_." I laughed aloud at such a ridiculous thought, but stopped short. I listened harder, and... there it was. Shuffling. My heart quickened. I shook my head. It could be just an animal. Or the wind. But there was definitely no breeze today and most animals were being hunted and/or bred for food.

I held my breath listening to the... whatever it was (just don't think about it) scuffle away. I released my breath in a shuddery sigh... only to have the rest of the wind knocked out of me by an extremely short person. And I know that was probably hypocritical coming from me, but this guy was short. Because, I noticed with a shiver as I rolled away from my attacker, he had no legs. The zombie pulled itself towards me, moaning pitifully. Wait, what? Since when did a _thing _like this do anything pitifully? I shook my head to clear it of any more absurd thoughts and began running- right into the chest of another one. Oh god. I was trapped. They stood in a circle, surrounding me.

I looked into the eyes of the one that currently held me in a death grip (haha Blaine not the time...) in the center of the circle. Or I would've, if he had any. You know when you go to all those self-defense classes and they tell you to kick them in the balls, scream, and run? Well, I was sure that zombies didn't have nervous systems anymore, and as for running? Circle of zombies, remember? And my vocal chords (which could still belt out Katy Perry like no tomorrow) seemed unable to function at this point. So I just watched helplessly as Mr. No-Eyes leaned closer to my face. "Welcome to the club." My last thought was "_Wait, since when could zombies talk_?" before he bit into my neck, finally eliciting a scream from me. Then I only knew darkness...

Kurt Hummel rushed outside, wielding his chainsaw. He was sure he heard a scream not twenty feet from his house. But he saw nothing but a dead world, filled with decay. "_Morbid much_?" he thought to himself with a small smile, for he already knew the answer. Of course he was morbid. You couldn't not be when you were a master of killing the dead. He gave the area one last sweep and shrugged walking back inside to watch reruns of Project Runway.

But if he had looked any closer, he would've seen a blood-red bow tie lying abandoned... not twenty feet from salvation.

**Welp. That's it. I dunno if I want to expand the story or not. I might just leave it a one-shot, though I was really looking forward to zombie!Blaine. *shrugs* REVIEW!**


	2. Damned or Not?

**Hi! Thanks if you favorite or followed! I decided to continue, but I'm not sure if I'm going to do the story like I originally planned. I already have **_**Dares and Demons **_**going, and it's a hassle to write it with as long as it's getting. Thank goodness it's nearing the end. I don't think I want to start another twenty chapter story. So enjoy. **

When I opened my eyes, it was to complete darkness. Well, at least I thought it was just dark. That zombie who bit me might have gouged my eyes out like him… wait, hold up. My eyes blew wide and I sat up immediately when I realized the implications of that sentence. I felt gingerly up my neck to feel a grotesque wound, yet when I pressed on it, minimal pain. My breathing quickened and I blinked away tears. I carded a hand through my hair as a nervous habit and tried to get a grip on my surroundings. I couldn't see anything, not a window, a door, a secret hatch. Except… wait, yes, there was a sliver of light emanating from what looked to be a crack underneath a door.

I crawled towards it desperately (and thankful that I had proof of my eyes being intact) until I heard footsteps rapidly approaching. Reacting quickly (just in case), I turned the collar of my jacket up, glad that the zombies who kidnapped me left me with at least that. As soon as my hands were down, the door busted open to reveal a teenager no older than I was. He looked me over quickly before tugging my arm. I, raised to be wary of strangers, immediately tried to break free. But he just looked at me with slightly judging eyes and spoke. I was torn between hating the honey-coated voice and adoring him (despite his slightly rodent-like features).

Instead of deciding that now, I listened. Well, for the most part. I was kind of distracted by the pumping blood beneath his absolutely succulent looking flesh- I cut my thoughts off abruptly and listened to him whole-heartedly. "-Smythe, we're here to help. We just busted another gang like this. Don't worry, you're safe now, beautiful." I may have missed his first name, but not the flirting. My face managed a slight blush using what little left over blood I had in my system. Thinking about that alone sent some sort of primal instinct through me to just _grab_, _bite_, _consume_.

I shivered at the animalistic turn my thoughts had taken, thankful that I had the restraint to not act upon them. That in itself was a Herculean feat. From what I learned about zombies, they were hunger-driven, unstoppable, brainless monsters. They (…we, I supposed…) theoretically weren't able to talk either. So I cleared my throat and said the one thing I was absolutely sure of. "I'm Blaine Anderson." The boy nodded. "Nice to meet you, Blaine. Now would you mind telling me about the events leading up to your capture?" I stiffened (rigor mortis, my inner comedian said) and he sighed.

"You don't have to speak if you do not feel comfortable continuing." He said in a monotone, sounding like he was reading out of a textbook. Which he probably was, I noted, as I took in his tattered shirt, sleeveless jacket, and jeans (skinny fit, I also noticed). The casual, lightweight uniform of a Slayer. Also, the giant freaking _saber _in his left hand. I imagined that slicing through my shabbily armored neck, severing my head and killing me (re-killing me?) and nearly gagged. Either I'm a really good actor or he just sucks at his job, because he hasn't tried it yet. He grabs my hand and starts pulling me down the hallway lined with various other doors, all busted open.

I was sure I saw movement within one of the rooms, but before I could look closer, we had turned the corner. I had to think of a way to escape fast, before someone of higher caliber noticed my… well, lack of life. Just then, the zombie I saw from earlier (the one hiding in that room) attacked. This one was female and flashed me a smile while sitting on top of the Slayer. He was struggling beneath her, and would most likely get up soon. The girl looked, again, no older than me, with short brown hair and striking green eyes. In those, I saw something I hadn't seen in any other zombie's before- life. She mouthed one word- "_Go_."- before being tossed off of the body under her. Without looking to see what happened to my unlikely hero, I ran the opposite direction and soon came to a metal door marked EXIT.

I should have gone through. I shouldn't have turned, because when I did, I saw the girl get stabbed through the chest with that oversized knife then beheaded. I spun, fighting sobs, and forced my way out of the door. All I could see was that unnamed girl's blood spilling on to the dusty wooden floor. This was why zombies avoided humans. I stood next to one without attacking. Why? I didn't understand, but I did know that, if we wanted to, we could coexist without needlessly slaughtering each other. Not wanting to see another pair of eyes like hers drained of life, I quickly entered one of the many abandoned buildings, went to the lowest level (the basement), and prepared to die peacefully.

Kurt turned as he felt an approaching body behind him. But it was just his least favorite comrade, Sebastian Smythe. "Any more survivors?" Kurt asked coldly, eyeing the fresh blood adorning his outfit and weapon thickly. Great, exactly what his step-mother and sister-in-law needed- more cleaning to do. The "Meerkat", as Kurt had (un)affectionately started calling him, nodded, but sighed. Sighing was never good. It meant failure. He raised a stark eyebrow at the boy, prompting him to explain. "Yeah. I found… Bl… Br… B-something, but _this _stopped me." He then held up a severed head, gripping it by the brown locks that otherwise framed her face, as if expecting praise.

Kurt glared at Sebastian emotionlessly, preparing to give him a long speech on the ethics of saving _living _victims first when his first in command (also his step-brother) stepped forward. "Sir, we found another hoard just off of 7th. Permission to invade and evacuate, sir?" Kurt waved away the formalities and brought his eyebrows together. All of these hoards were rather disturbing. Zombies gathering together then corralling humans? Highly unlikely. They hardly had the brainpower to function, let alone plan and take action. Unless…

Kurt had been getting the strangest feeling that either they were wrong about zombies… or that somebody was lying to him. More and more zombies that he faced would seem to almost try to reason or plead with him to stop… but before they could get a word out, he would silence them permanently. Was he wrong to do so? Were they all wrong? Were- No, he decided. If his faith was wavering now, he needed to study harder. Lost in thoughts that he tried to suppress, Kurt followed his brother into yet another battle with the undead… feeling like, with every masterful stroke of his chainsaw, he was murdering innocents instead of the murderers.

**So you've probably noticed that I've formatted the story like so-**

_**Author's Note/Review Replies**_

**Blaine in 1****st**** Person**

**(A.K.A. MAIN STORY)**

**Kurt In 3****rd**** Person**

**(BACKROUND & SLIGHT CHARACTER/STORY DEVELOPMENT)**

_**Parting Author's Note/Review Plead**_

**Which brings me to- REVIEW PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE WITH BLAINE SHAPED SPRINKLES ON TOP! :D**


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